


A Charm of Powerful Trouble

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Transformation, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-01-26 19:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12564420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: Killian should have known to keep his flask close when a mad scientist was on the loose. But at least werewolves don’t drink rum, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for CS Halloweek 2017, Day 4: Shapeshifters and Vampires; inspired by art by Cocohook38

Of course, the next threat to Storybrooke would come from within. And of course, it would be a horror movie sprung to life, and it would be right before Halloween. It shouldn't have surprised Emma, really, but apparently the lengths of what she could believe hadn't been stretched far enough yet. 

They also should have known it was a bad idea to let two mad scientists hang out, because it looked like Dr. Jekyll had worn off on Dr. Whale. He'd snapped and was now wreaking havoc on the town as his pre-cursed self, Dr. Frankenstein. (Had Jekyll left some of his personality-switching serum behind? And since when did either story count as a fairy tale? Did it matter? Probably not anymore.)

Pick a stereotypical mad scientist thing to do and Whale had done it: kidnapped a pair of Lost Boys and sewn their sides together (though they weirdly didn't seem to mind it); put crow wings on a herd (flock?) of cats; and they’d found brains of some sort in the fridge in his garage—yet thankfully no one was missing, so she was keeping her fingers crossed those weren't human. 

The dwarves were being extra cautious, in fear of a potential human centipede situation, but no one had managed to catch the Doctor in action. In fact, the only time they'd seen him was when, like a true villain, he'd stopped in Granny's in all his crazy-haired, lab-coat-wearing glory to monologue about it (and everyone was very concerned for the fate of the meatloaf he'd picked up). 

Today had been especially exhausting as he'd decided to "free" the patients in the hospital's psych ward, and the entire day had been spent rounding them up before the chill of night could settle in and leave them exposed to the elements. It was nearly dark when they'd found and returned the last one to safety. 

Emma was barely conscious when she and Killian finally got home and only paused long enough to shed her boots before collapsing on the couch; he was right behind her, only removing his coat before flopping down next to her, and picking up his flask from the coffee table where it had somehow been forgotten in their rush to leave...twelve hours ago? Was that it? It felt like days. 

"I liked it better when we could just slap an anti-magic cuff on our villains and that was it," she sighed. "I can fight that; but I sucked at science."

He hummed in agreement. "I wish I could help you there, love, but my knowledge in that area is woefully out of date, and there isn't much on experimental medicine in Henry's school books."

“Maybe not, but you can tell me that it’s the full moon. It is, right? That’s why everything is so crazy?”

“Almost,” he chuckled. “One more night.”

She just groaned. “So it’ll get worse?”

“Most likely.”

Huffing, she hauled herself back to her feet. “Screw this; I need some hot chocolate.”

He followed her into the kitchen, practically slumping against the counter as she started to prep her cocoa. “You want one?” she asked as she measured out milk.

“I’m fine here,” he answered, holding up his flask. 

“I might need a bit of that, too,” she commented, smirking, while she popped her mug in the microwave.

“As you wish, Swan.” 

They settled into a bit of that quiet domesticity Emma had come to love in the past few months, the only sounds those of the microwave’s quiet whirr followed by Killian’s gentle pop of the cork of his flask. 

She should have known that was when it would truly go to hell. 

Because no sooner had he swallowed one very long pull of rum than he was suddenly coughing, sputtering, and curling in on himself, dropping his flask and stumbling forward, gripping the edge of a chair like it was a life buoy. 

“Killian? Did that go down the wrong way?” It had certainly happened before, but never this violently. He tried to shake his head, but all he managed to do was completely collapse on the floor. What was going on?

To her horror, he began to whimper in pain as he writhed on the tile, curled in a ball. She immediately dropped to her knees next to him. “Killian! What's going on? What's wrong?” Reflexively, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but at her touch, he reared back hard enough to send her sliding a few feet in the other direction, slamming against the oven. But the jolt barely registered in her fear for whatever was happening to Killian. 

“Em-ma—th-the flask—” he stammered in between labored breaths and gasps of agony. He was on his hand and knees now, but still hunched in on himself and seemingly unaware of what he'd just done—not that she could really blame him. His face said it all, contorted and pinched and grimacing in a way she hadn't seen since...God, since any of the times she'd had to watch him die. It made her heart ache. 

At his request, she gingerly crawled over to where he'd dropped his flask. Some of its contents had pooled on the floor below the spout; though it still smelled like rum, it was colored a garish neon yellow that was clearly anything but. Had someone poisoned it? And why? Carefully, she recorked it and pocketed the flask, knowing they’d need it to find a cure—and fast, given the increased volume of Killian’s yelps and whines.

She dug out her phone and scooted over to Killian. She didn’t try touching him this time, but as calmly as she could told him, “Hey, I think you’ve been poisoned. I’m going to call the hospital, okay?”

He looked up at her with unseeing panic in his eyes and that’s when she realized—whatever it was wasn’t just poison. Poison usually didn’t make eyes glow. Sure, she’d always been poetic about his bright blue irises shining in the dark, but they were actually glowing right now, as if lit from within.

And when had his hair gotten so long? It suddenly seemed shaggier, as did his beard. 

And why did he seem larger?

She couldn’t help it—she cupped his face with her hand as a pit formed in her stomach, suddenly terrified of whatever was happening to him. “Killian?” she whispered in a broken, fearful voice. He could only whimper in response and placed his own hand over hers, much bigger than it had been moments ago, and continued to stare back at her with water-rimmed eyes and a furrowed, now-thicker brow.

He couldn’t say it, but she knew what he was thinking: What the bloody hell was happening?

Another strangled yell escaped his parted lips as he fully collapsed in on himself, his head falling to his chest to make his spine curve almost unnaturally, and then whatever transformation was happening took full hold. It was like something out of  _ Harry Potter _ or a horror film, and she was frozen in place watching: his clothes shredded against bulging muscles as he grew; dark fur the color of his hair covered his increasingly exposed skin; his limbs and entire body changed shape, lengthening and contorting so that he had no choice but to stand on all fours; and the straps of his brace snapped off until his hook fell abandoned on the floor, too small now for his stump, judging by the size of the opposite paw.

Wait—paw?

Finally, he looked back up at her. His eyes remained unchanged, though still glowing strangely, but they were now hidden in a face she hardly recognized: one featuring the long snout, sharp teeth, pointed ears, and furred face of a wolf.

“A werewolf?” she said aloud, disbelieving, but she couldn’t come up with another definition. Had that potion seriously given him lycanthropy?

Immediately, though, there were concerns other than  _ How did this happen? _ and  _ How do we fix this? _ Because just as his face now bore little familiarity to her, there was nothing she knew in his gaze, as if the wolf had taken over and wiped Killian from existence—a terrifying thought on its own. 

But there was one emotion she could identify in his eyes: hunger, and not for what he usually craved. He wanted meat, and Emma was the freshest around.

Slowly, he stood on his hind legs, towering over where she still sat on the kitchen floor. “Killian, it’s me, it’s Emma; can you hear me?” she tried, hoping she might be able to get through to whatever part of him was still inside. She’d been around Ruby enough to know that the human didn’t go away, but when untrained, the wolf would easily take control—and given Killian’s very recent introduction to shapeshifting, the wolf was running free and purely on instinct.

Her attempts to get through fell flat and he stalked closer, licking his chops with a long pink tongue that put his usual one to shame. She tried to slide out of the room, edging backward on her butt, but he was on top of her before she realized it, sniffing her intently. (Oddly, his breath smelled the same as always; she wasn’t entirely sure why that was a thing she noticed, but the brain in panic picks up weird stuff.)

She held her hands up in front of her defensively and begged. “Killian, stop; it’s me! Please listen.” He took a couple steps back and her heart soared, praying he’d heard her and taken the words to heart. But a second later, he was charging forward and snarling, ready to attack.

Instinctively, her magic blasted out just as his fangs made contact with her forearm, sending him flying across the room and crashing into the counter, probably denting it but she didn’t really care. He let out a canine yelp on impact and slumped to the floor, but quickly righted himself on his three paws.

Gone was the feral look when he threw his glance her way, replaced by one—finally—of recognition, which was quickly replaced by wide-eyed horror when he looked at what he’d done to her arm. It was only a few punctures, and thankfully she still had on her leather jacket, but typical Killian, she could see the personal blame and self-loathing taking over.

She tried placating him. “Killian, it’s okay; stay calm; we’ll figure this—” But he wasn’t hearing it and took off, barrelling out of the kitchen on legs he wasn’t used to, sliding on the wood floor as he found the back door and crashed through it, shattering the glass and wood, catching his bushy tail on a sharp edge, and likely cutting himself in the process as he ran off into the stormy night.

She pulled herself to standing as best she could with her aching arm and took in the wreckage. Slipping out her phone to call her dad, and then probably Regina, she gave another heavy sigh; it looked like her night was far from over. 

The mournful howl that sounded in the distance echoed her feelings exactly.


	2. Chapter 2

Ever since he took that sip of what clearly was not rum, Killian’s world had been pain, chaos, and muddled consciousness. All that was really clear was the horror as he saw the fear in Emma’s eyes and heard the panic in her voice, and the sudden realization that she was hurt and he’d caused it because of—whatever he now was. Had he heard her right? Did she say...werewolf?

His body was unfamiliar and his senses were heightened, making everything both a blur and move in slow motion as he tore across town under the almost-full moon. He was practically drowning from sensory overload—everything was too loud, too bright, too pungent. He didn’t even notice the squealing of brakes until a car stopped inches from him, lights nearly blinding him, and making him jump and yelp and instinctively dart off in another direction.

Storybrooke was too much to handle, so he ran toward the only place he could think of where things were usually calmer. As he got closer, the crash of the ocean on the shore made his ears twitch and the tang of seawater stung his sensitive nose so much sharper than it usually did. But still he ran, to where he at least had a chance at isolation and getting the beast that had settled within under control. Because even when he was making a conscious decision, there was now a new entity residing in the back of his brain, clawing for release. He’d already been through that once, with the Darkness; having it again was agitating and distressing.

He pounded up the gangplank to the dock of the Jolly Roger, and practically fell through the hatch to the captain’s quarters, missing several steps of the steep ladder and rolling across the floor of the dark room. The impact stung, but less than he expected, and he was quickly able to right himself and hopped up on the bed. 

Without thought, he paced in a circle before settling down—the wolf was surfacing again, and he growled as he beat the beast back. Staying alert was more draining than he realized, though, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to keep it up. At least here, alone on the ship, there would be less temptation for the monster until he either changed back on his own or had enough command to face people again.

Because if the wolf had attacked Emma—his true love, of all people—what else would it—he—do to someone else? He buried his head in his paws at the memory, trying to block it out, but all that played in his head was the image of Emma, afraid of him. After all they’d been through, how could it come to this?

He was just drifting off to what was going to be a fitful slumber when footsteps creaked on the deck above, perking up his ears and rousing him to consciousness. The steps got closer, and he got a whiff of something familiar—something human—when the wolf regained control.

* * *

“No. No way.”

“Emma, she has the most experience in this.”

“Dad! I am not letting her fire that thing at my husband!” she shouted, gesturing at Granny and the signature crossbow the diner owner looked way too comfortable wielding—an even more unsettling sight given that they were in the kitchen, which was still in disarray. Yes, her wolf hearing and sense of smell would definitely come in handy when trying to track down a...wolf (she was having a hard time saying that), but the thought of a scenario where a weapon like that was needed filled her with dread. 

“Relax, honey; it's only loaded with tranquilizers,” Granny assured her, but that didn't do much. Killian had been missing a half hour already so who even knew how far away he was, or in what shape? What if he ran into a werebear, or a hippogriff, or something equally large? They had no idea what Whale was up to still—any sort of monster could be out there, though thankfully, Regina was going after him.

And yeah, Killian was a survivor, but Emma could tell how scared he was. The faster they found him, the better. 

“Okay. But only fire of you absolutely have to.”

“Don’t worry; I won’t.” Granny reached over and squeezed Emma’s hand, eyes soft with sympathy. “I know what you’re going through, and I know what he’s going through. So take a deep breath, and let’s go get your pirate.”

Emma did as she was told and nodded, still not a fan of the plan but there really wasn’t another option. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Granny started to speak, but was cut off by a phone ringing. The three of them glanced at each other, waiting for someone to answer.

Emma looked to David. “Dad, is that yours?”

“No; your mom set my ringtone to ‘True Loves Kiss’.”

Then they realized that it was coming from the pile of Killian’s shredded clothes. Quickly, Emma knelt and rummaged through them, finding the device in what used to be the back pocket of his (and her favorite) jeans; Belle was calling. 

“Hello?” Emma answered, slightly concerned; it was unusual for her to call so late. 

“Emma, is that you?” Belle’s voice was shaky, immediately making Emma concerned. 

“Yeah; what’s wrong?”

“I...I need help. I stopped by the Jolly Roger to grab a few books I left when I was staying here, and now, there’s some...thing below deck, and I think it’s trying to attack.”

Emma sighed and gave a knowing glance to David. “What did it look like?”

“I only got a glimpse, but it...well, it looked like a wolf, but not one I’d recognize. It was much darker than Ruby. I really hate to ask this, but can you or Killian come by?”

“Yeah, I will,” she answered, resignedly and automatically as she slipped into Savior mode. “But I’ve gotta tell you—that wolf, um,  _ is _ Killian.”

Belle was silent for a moment, but eventually responded with, “I see.”

“So, be careful. Please.” Emma wasn’t sure if the plea was more for Belle’s sake or Killian’s. 

“I will; don’t worry.”

“Okay, see you soon.” She clicked off the phone and just sat for a moment, studying the tile while lost in thought. She was about to go rescue her husband’s best friend from her husband-turned-werewolf. What was her life?

Her dad’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “If I heard that right, we’re heading to the ship?”

“Yeah,” she answered, rising to her feet. She took one more breath to steady herself, and then, “Let’s do this.”

A wave of her hand whisked them all to the dock where the Jolly Roger was moored. In the short span of time between hanging up the phone an arriving, Killian had apparently managed to get above deck and had Belle cornered: she had climbed partway up the rigging, with him snarling and nipping—literally—at her (high) heels.

As they climbed the gangplank, they could hear her shouting at him. “Killian, you can fight this; I know you can! This isn’t you!” 

They boarded with a clamor, drawing Belle’s attention. “Oh, thank God you guys are here. I don’t know if—ahh!” 

Kilian had used her distraction to rear back and swipe a paw at her, scratching the back of her leg and drawing a scream. And he wasn’t backing down, still circling where she clung to the ropes and sniffing the air.

Emma hated to do it, but she had to: she shot another blast of magic at him to push him away from Belle. She couldn’t watch as she did it, but heard the yelp and ensuing thud when he hit the railing across the deck.

David ran to help Belle down and Emma rushed to check on Killian; being thrown that many times in one night couldn’t be good for anyone, man or canine. He was still on his side, but she could see his head moving and cupped it in her hands when she knelt next to him. When his eyes settled on her, she could tell he was there and not the beast. His gaze quickly shifted between her and Belle, and he began to whimper—knowing him, at the realization of what he’d done...again. 

“Shh, Killian, it’s okay; we know you didn’t mean it,” she consoled, brushing the dark fur behind his ears, but it didn’t seem to do anything. She knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if this continued, or worse happened. “Granny,” she started, thinking they just might need one of those tranq darts, but then she got another idea.

Granny hustled over. “What do you need?

“This is magic, right?” Emma began thinking out loud. “So if magic transformed him into this, could it change him back?”

“I’ve never heard of it working like that, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

That was all the affirmation she needed. She placed her hands in front of her, hovering over Killian, and pictured him as a human again.

But his howls of pain only increased as she tried to work the spell, and he was clamoring to stand, clearly trying to get away. She thought it seemed like his fur got shorter, but she couldn’t take his yelps anymore and stopped. Whatever progress she’d made was instantly reverted and he lay next to her, panting.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she hugged him, and he nestled into her a bit before standing up.

He gave her one last, long look, his ears drooping sadly, before running off again, this time toward the forest. She followed him with her eyes as long as she could until he disappeared into the dark, dense foliage as rain began to fall.

She healed Belle’s leg and quickly caught the librarian up on what was happening; it was nothing Belle hadn’t already been through with Ruby back in the day. “Unless you can find a cure, there’s only one way to deal with this,” Belle advised. “He has to accept the wolf as part of him.” Granny nodded sadly in agreement.

Truthfully, Emma hadn’t even considered that they might not be able to reverse this. Could he really stay a werewolf? And what would that mean for them? She certainly wouldn’t love him any less, but what would change?

“Well, we have to find him first,” David said, clearly slipping into prince mode. “Again,” he corrected.

“I’ve got the scent. On your lead, Savior,” Granny followed.

Emma nodded and turned to face the direction he ran off in. Here they were, about to chase after him again for the second time in as many hours, and all she wanted to do was fix it but it kept getting worse. 

Suddenly, Belle was at her side. “Hey—we’ll get this sorted out. And if anyone can handle this, it’s him.” She gave Emma an optimistic smile that it was hard not to return, and that buoyed her hopes just a bit.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Killian’s voice reminded her that ‘ _ I’ve yet to see you fail _ .’ That might not be true anymore, but she’d be damned if this was another. With renewed determination, she set off toward the forest, with her motley crew of Killian’s friends in tow.

Finding people is what they do, right?

(But who—or what—would they find?)


	3. Chapter 3

Bloody hell, would this night never end? Granted, he had no idea what awaited him come sunrise, but Killian had had enough of this cursed form. Rushing in and out of consciousness—though not truly being unconscious, just not in control—was mentally taxing and emotionally draining. It was like being a slave within his own body, however much he no longer recognized it. When the wolf took over, it was like he was just along for the ride, clamoring for command but unable to break rank. 

Until he was inevitably jolted into awareness by one thing or another—such as a blast of magic, like Emma’s loving but ultimately failed attempt to change him back, or the taste of blood—and left horrified by what he’d done and by everything around him. Not only had he attacked Emma, but now also Belle and a growing number of unsuspecting forest creatures not used to having such a predator around.

He would say one thing for this form: despite his own mental exhaustion, it seemed to have no limit to the amount of energy it had, zigzagging and turning wherever instinct told him to go and jumping another way when it encountered something frightening—which there was plenty of in the forest, apparently, even more so than the sensory overload he’d experienced in town. Sights and odors popped up with no warning that had him either seeking further or recoiling in disgust. 

Eventually, he had no idea where he was. But considering what he’d done so far, he figured being somewhere relatively foreign and desolate was safest until he had the beast under control. There was no way he was fit to be around people at the moment; the animals of the forest weren’t so lucky.

Some time had passed since his last feeding—he hated to phrase it that way, but it was the best word he could think of—so he thought he might be in the clear, at least for tonight. He just wanted to find a warm, dry place to curl up and sleep until dawn. But then the wind changed, carrying the scent of some animal, and he was pulled under again, following his nose and stalking his prey.

The wolf was silent as it crept through the trees, preferring to run on its back legs for added stealth as it hadn’t quite mastered hunting with only three paws. 

Killian vainly attempted a warning snarl, but the deer never knew what hit it.

* * *

Granny knelt to assess the paw prints left in the rain-wet soil just outside the edge of the trees, and then sniffed the air, looking around until she frowned. “Well, the scent got washed away by the storm, but there are still prints. We’ll have to go off of those.” 

“Should we call Mom?” Emma whispered to her dad, not wanting to offend Granny. “She’s a lot better at this than either of us.”

But Granny heard anyway. “Sweetheart, who do you think taught her to track?” She chuckled, but continued. “We could use some light, though, if you’d care to oblige, Savior.” The moon was still covered by storm clouds, so any light from it was intermittent at best and looked to be covered by the dense foliage anyway. 

At first, Emma just figured she could use her hands as flashlights—some lumos-type thing—but got a better idea. She knelt in the mud to find a paw print and placed her palm on it. His hands normally were much larger than hers, but it was almost comical how much his paws now dwarfed hers. She closed her eyes and tried to picture light, but all that came to mind was the eerie blue glow of his eyes when she’d last seen his human features.

“Wow,” Belle murmured, and Emma opened her eyes to see. All over the ground, paw prints were illuminated in the same color she’d been remembering. It was actually kind of pretty, the way it seemed to light up the whole forest, but therein lie the problem: the prints went everywhere, with almost no end in sight, though did seem to go in the same general direction. The path crisscrossed itself and ran in circles and odd angles as it wove between the trees and out of sight.

Granny just tutted. “What is it?” Emma asked, worried.

“Poor thing is terrified. All those sounds and smells? It’s overwhelming. He might need to be calmed down.”

Off the quartet went, following the glowing prints for miles as they traveled in meandering paths through the forest. (Emma transformed Belle’s heels into sensible boots early on in their trek.) But at varying points, the path would become less frenzied and more direct. “So, what does that mean?” Emma wondered aloud.

“That’s the wolf, hunting.” And not much later, they found the gnarled, bloody remains of a rabbit. Emma shuddered and began to pray that no more Lost Boys lived out here; thank goodness they’d found all the psych ward patients, too.

The trail continued to vary between the panicked chaos they’d first seen and calm, straightforward paths, which were usually accompanied by a small animal carcass. She desperately wished she could just magic her way to him, but it wasn’t like a bean—her magic required a geographic destination, not a thought. So they continued to plod through the night, rain soaking and chilling them, but she hardly noticed in her dogged pursuit.

(And she made a mental note to either eliminate the canine puns or ramp them up.)

Probably around 3 am, they finally heard a wicked snarl some distance ahead, shortly followed by sounds of struggle and the brief cry of an animal.

“Killian?” she cried, and nearly ran toward the sound, only held back at the last second by Granny. She tried to shake the other woman off, but the old wolf held tight. 

“Trust me, honey—you don’t want to get between a wolf and his meal. We have to approach slow.”

Begrudgingly, Emma took the advice and they eased their pace, following the glowing path as the wet sounds of eating grew louder. And there he was in a clearing, chowing down on what was left of a deer. They all hesitated at the outside of the opening, unable to watch—save for Emma.

She took a few hesitant steps forward, not speaking and moving as carefully as possible to not draw his attention. Until now, she knew what he was theoretically capable of, but seeing it in action was another thing entirely. She wouldn’t say she was scared, but wary? Definitely.

As she approached, he paused and lifted his head, sniffing the air. She could tell from the wild darting of his eyes that he wasn’t there mentally, so she stopped in place. But then he looked at her—right in her eyes—and she thought she saw him trying to break free.

“Killian?” she whispered.

The wolf rose up on his hind legs, still staring at her, but hunched over, and the hair on the back of his neck was standing upright. He bared his teeth and cold dread ran down her spine, so she started to slowly back away.

A second later, he launched himself at her with a feral howl, landing on all fours just feet in front of her (where she’d stood only a moment before). She was frozen in place and could hear Granny readying the crossbow.

But when he looked up at her, the wild look was gone from his gaze, leaving a confused Killian in its wake. “Hey, it’s okay—we’re here,” she started, moving to crouch down next to him, but he took off nearly as soon as he came to.

“Dammit.” How could they help him if he wouldn’t let them get near?

* * *

That had been much too close for comfort. He wasn’t surprised they’d followed him, but oh how he wished they hadn’t. Mainly for their own safety, but he didn’t want anyone to see him like that: mindless and motivated only by flesh. He was sure he’d left a gruesome scene behind, certainly unappetizing to a human—though, he hated to admit, he was beginning to acquire a palate for it.

The sooner he was out of this cursed body, the better.

His stomach now full, he assumed he was finally in the clear for the night and began to search for some sort of shelter or a place to rest. Until another rabbit crossed his path and the wolf surfaced once more, though thankfully for a shorter amount of time. Those times felt much like when the Dark One was controlling his movements through his heart: though he didn’t want to do it, an outside force was pulling the strings. Resurfacing was like getting a breath of fresh air after drowning—something else he was all too familiar with, and at the hands of the Dark One, no less. He hadn’t had a chance to give much thought as to who was behind this transformation, but Gold seemed as likely a candidate as anyone. Or was this one of Mad Doctor Whale’s experiments?

In his struggle to remain in command and his effort to put as much distance between he and the others, he hardly noticed that the night was ending until he saw the position of the stars in the sky through the thinning clouds and a break in the trees near the shore. The sight and salty smell of the ocean calmed him like always, and the monster within, too, who seemed to settle; whether it was pacified by the ocean or the approaching dawn was unknown, but he’d take the respite. He found a path down to the beach and found the driest spot he could, just under the lip of a short cliff, to watch the sunrise. He lowered himself back onto all fours and again instinctively circled his spot before ungracefully plopping down in the sand and gazing out at the still-dark horizon.

Once he stopped moving, he suddenly felt everything ache all at once. His muscles, still sore from the transformation, were screaming from overuse. Cuts and scrapes all over his body from the various spills he took and thickets he ran through were stinging from the rain and sweat that sat on his skin beneath his thick fur (he generally preferred that just on his chest, thank you very much). And the crash of the ocean against the shore was pulling him closer and closer to sleep, which wasn’t an entirely bad thing, but he wasn’t sure if that was the best plan of action given that he didn’t know whether or not he’d transform again when the sun rose, and preferred to be awake if and when he did.

But he couldn’t fight off the encroaching drowsiness, and felt his head fall onto his paw before curling in a bit tighter on himself and slipping into slumber.

* * *

David had to physically restrain Emma from running after Killian; she fought against it, but like most times, her dad knew what was best.

“Emma, you can’t keep up with him. We need to stick together to have our best chance at helping Hook.”

He was right, and she took a moment to collapse into David’s always-strong embrace before setting off again.

The trail was more direct now, but Killian had still covered a pretty big distance in a short amount of time, and his long, lean wolf legs carried him much faster than their comparatively stubby human ones could.

Finally, as dawn approached, the path made a beeline toward the coast, ending in a lone, winding trail down a rocky path to the beach, where the glowing paw prints eventually faded out. 

It was hard to make out much with only the moonlight to go off, but—“There,” Belle directed, pointing just past the last illuminated mark. Huddled near the face of a cliff was a mass of black fur just recognizable in the dim light. Emma let out a relieved half-sob and nearly slid down the hill in her panic to get to him, only stabilized by her dad close on her heels. 

The first sliver of sun rose over the horizon as she dashed through the sand to where Killian was curled up; as those first rays hit him, the fur melted away and he transformed back into himself. If this transformation was as painful as the first, he didn’t show it; actually, he didn’t move at all. When she collapsed on the beach next to him, she saw why: he was completely unconscious, covered in cuts and bruises, and breathing shallow. She checked his pulse on his neck; that felt okay, but he was quickly cooling in the chill air, and the fact that he was naked probably didn’t help.

“Oh, Killian,” she whispered, and brushed his hair back to place a gentle kiss on his temple. He looked so small here, partly in comparison to how large he had been as the wolf and partly due to the way he was curled in on himself. He always looked younger when he slept, with his thick lashes and full, parted lips, but now even more so. 

Despite being passed out, a shiver wracked his body. The low light wasn’t able to hide the blue pallor of his skin, which was wet (and probably had been for awhile, judging by the way his chest hair was plastered to his pecs). As gently as possible, she checked over his body for injury; she couldn’t find anything, thankfully, but the low, involuntary whimper he let out as she moved him, quickly followed by another shudder, nearly broke her heart. They had to get him inside and warm—fast. 

“Dad—can you help—?” she started to stutter, but David was already moving toward Killian, bending to scoop him up. In any other situation, she knew her dad would protest or vow to hold it over Killian’s head—and he might yet, she was sure—but he was all business right now, thankfully. 

Once he had Killian securely held in his arms, he busted out the dad voice again. “I’ve got him, but we don’t have time to walk back. Can you get us home?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” It took far more concentration than normal and a gentle squeeze on her shoulder from Belle, but familiar gray smoke soon surrounded them, and then they were out of the elements and inside her and Killian’s bedroom. Granny wasted no time in throwing back the sheets of the bed while Emma handed Belle extra blankets from the linen closet, and was extremely thankful that she hadn’t left anything embarrassing out in the room.

David set Killian on the bed and the ladies quickly tucked him in; if Killian was aware of his change in scenery, he didn’t show it, but his color looked better almost instantly and his breath evened out. He still shivered a bit, but only slightly, and that was enough for Emma to finally relax; her shoulders sagged as she sighed in relief.

Suddenly, her dad was gripping her arms. “Woah, there; I’ve got ya.” She blinked back up at him; apparently, the adrenaline that had kept her running all night was fading, and fast. “I think you better get some rest, too, Emma. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but,” he suggested, looking up to avoid her eyes, “skin-to-skin contact is going to help Hook warm up fastest. So, you should...do that. And get some sleep.”

She just nodded; she was too tired to attempt anything else to help him (not that she’d really know what “else” would be until she heard back from Regina).

David pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaving; Belle promised to come by with some books after having a nap; and Granny said she’d bring them lunch and check in later. A slurred “Thanks, guys,” was all Emma could manage, but it didn’t come close to accurately reflecting her gratitude. She’d make it up to them tomorrow. 

Right now, it took all her energy to quickly strip, shut off the lights, and cuddle into the blanket nest with her still-chilled pirate. She was worried he’d wake or that she’d hit a sore spot, but all he did was hum sleepily and shift ever so slightly as she wrapped her arms around him, bringing them chest to chest. She was asleep in seconds.


	4. Chapter 4

**** Dawn filtered hazy through the windows of the cabin and Killian lazily blinked open his eyes at the light, happy to be on his ship with the woman he loved in his arms. She shifted a bit and he glanced down at her as she too fluttered her eyelashes as she woke. 

“Mm, good morning,” she murmured, pulling herself even closer to him and trailing a hand up his arm, grazing his collarbones and neck on her way to the tips of his ears. She played with them, teasing, “My, what big ears you have.”

“The better to hear you with, my dear,” he answered.

She smiled up at him. “And what big, blue eyes you have.” 

“The better to see you with, Swan.”

Finally, she placed a gentle kiss on his lips and pulled back, leaving him grinning. “And what big teeth you have,” she finished, biting her lip and glancing up through her lashes.

He growled into her ear, nudging it with his nose. She smelled positively delectable and he could feel a familiar hunger growing within. “The better to eat you with, love.”

He reared back and sank his teeth into her shoulder. She screamed, but not in the good way. She tasted divine, but all too soon, she was out of reach and he was left licking his chops, craving more.

She stood on the opposite side of the cabin from him, hands outstretched defensively and a terrified look on her face. Wait, why was she scared of him?

“Emma, it’s me,” he tried to say, but all that came out were ferocious roars. He glanced down at his paws and fur-covered limbs. Oh, right.

“Help! There’s a wolf!” she shouted, and her palms began to glow.

“Please, Swan, listen to me!” he shouted, only to howl.

“What did you do with my husband?” She was angry and holding back tears, breaking his heart.

“I’m right here!”

“GO AWAY!” she yelled, and unleashed her powers at him. He writhed and twisted against the magical restraints, still shouting for her to listen to him, but it was all for nought until—

—Until he awoke thrashing in his own bed. As a human.

Emma was lying next to him with her hands gripping his shoulders. “Hey, hey—it’s okay; it was just a dream. You’re okay now.”

Immediately, his hand went to her face, cupping it—he had to feel that warmth against his skin, to see if she was real. She tilted her head into his touch and gave him a soft smile that eased the concerned furrow of her brow, and his panic ebbed a little.

He couldn’t help it: he surged forward to claim her lips with his, desperate for that connection. This whole ordeal had only started hours ago, but it felt like ages that he’d been separated from her. She responded just as hungrily, which was reassuring—until he remembered that she’d been through quite a bit last night, too.

He broke the kiss but tugged her close to him, practically burying his head in her shoulder; as terrible as he felt about everything, he needed that physical contact to ground him right now. “Emma, I’m so sorry; I’m so sorry for everything last night—”

She cut him off, firmly but gently telling him, “Hey, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He pulled back to look at her, astonished by the resolve and forgiveness on her face. “Swan, I hurt you and Belle. How could I...how can you...?”  _ How can you look at me? _ were the words he couldn't voice.

“No. You didn’t do anything; the wolf did. Actually, whoever did this to you is really who should be blamed.”

“But I wasn’t strong enough to fight back.” How could she think he was innocent in this? 

“You did the best you could. No one is mad at you, babe. Please don’t beat yourself up about it; please.”

He scoffed a bit, both at how well she knew him and at the fact that it was too late. True, he was getting better at letting go of the past and not letting his sins weigh on him so heavily, but situations like this reminded him of just who he’d been: ruthless and mindless when it came to his revenge and anyone who got in his way. But if he wasn’t that man anymore, then he should have been able to fight against the beast; he should have protected those he loved instead of letting it run free. 

A knock on the bedroom door interrupted his self-deprecating train of thought. “She’s right, you know.” Granny was peeking in the doorway and he could smell the grilled cheese and onion rings she had with her (much stronger than he usually could, actually). “Most wolves have even less control than you did on their first transformation. I certainly didn’t. Hell, Ruby ate her boyfriend.”

“Uh, Granny, that part probably doesn't help,” Emma interjected, muttering as she pulled the sheets tighter around them. Killian was less concerned with propriety, and felt his heart rate pick up a tick.

But Granny shrugged it off. “Point is, you did fine, and you’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.” She set the bag of food at the foot of the bed; Emma’s stomach growled in response—though, was it louder than normal, or did it just seem like it? “Now eat up; even if the wolf ate, transformation takes a lot out of you and you both must be starved.”

He wasn’t sure he had much of an appetite, once he recalled what his last meal was, but it wasn’t long after Granny left and Emma dug into hers that he suddenly found himself ravenous.  For lack of a better word, he found himself wolfing down the french fries and reuben sandwich brought for him (he’d never had a reuben before, but he figured Granny’s lupine senses must have known he’d like it—which was mildly concerning, but he was too focused on his meal to really think about it). He was just finishing Emma’s onion rings when her phone rang from its spot on the nightstand.

“Oh, good—it’s Regina,” she said as she grabbed it and answered. “Hey, what did you find out?”

Though it was quiet, Killian heard the mayor’s response clear as day. “You might want to put this on speakerphone; if he’s awake, you’re both gonna want to hear this.” That didn’t sound good.

Emma did as was asked and scooted next to Killian; he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close instinctively. “What’s up?” Emma asked.

“Guyliner, you there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I have good news and bad news,” Regina started. “The good news is that I caught the culprit and he’s all ready to be processed. He doesn’t seem to be a huge fan of the cells at the station, but take your time. And be sure to add theft to the list of charges.”

“I was going to return them!” Whale protested in the background. Emma and Killian both sighed; of course it was him.

“How’d you figure out it was him?” Emma wondered.

“Remember my missing spellbooks?” Regina had put in a formal complaint earlier that week, but they’d been too busy to follow up on it. “They had similar transformation potions in them, but not quite to that extent. So I made an educated guess, baited this guy to my place on the promise of a couple hearts, and that was that.”

“You’re sure?” Killian had to ask. It was believable, but...this was also Storybrooke. It wasn’t uncommon for multiple villains to be running around at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sure. I put him under my own version of a polygraph test, and he spilled everything, even where the brains came from.”

Emma groaned, slightly exasperated. “Did you take his heart?”

“I gave it back,” was Regina’s nonchalant answer.

Emma huffed, but plowed on. “Okay, your turn to go on speaker. We need to talk to Whale.” While they waited for Regina to switch her phone, she reached over and gave a comforting squeeze of Killian’s leg through the bed covers. It helped a bit, but he could still feel a ball of anxiety growing in his stomach, and it wasn’t just the greasy food. Just because he was human right now didn’t mean he was in the clear; he needed to hear just what the mad doctor had done to him.

“What’s up, Savior?” the doctor’s smarmy voice greeted over the phone.

She just rolled her eyes. “Cut the crap, Frank-N-Furter. What exactly did you do and why?” 

“I think it’s pretty obvious what I did.”

“Humor me. We already know you love to hear yourself talk.”

“Hm, that’s true,” he conceded, and to their surprise, he launched right into an explanation. “I did it for the same reason anyone conducts experiments: to see if I could. Letting the patients out was just a ruse to get you out of the house. Slipped in and put in the flask, easy peasy. You should really rethink your home security.”

Killian could feel her tense next to him; Whale’s casual attitude was grating on him, but Emma plowed on. “Why did you do this to Killian?” she demanded.

“The pirate is a prime specimen. Look at how old he is and how much he’s been through. If it works on him, it’d work on anyone.”

Anxiety quickly turned to anger within—once more, he was just a means to an end, being used. Old rage filled him up and burst out. “So that’s all I am—a lab rat in your game of science? Not an actual person, with a life that you’ve so carelessly interrupted?” The doctor was lucky that he wasn’t physically there; even with his brace shredded, Killian would have found a way to get Whale on the wrong end of his hook.

“I mean...yeah,” was all Whale had to say.

It was a good thing they were alone, because Killian jumped out of bed and began to pace furiously, hardly giving second thought to his nudity. This was his childhood all over again: he was just an object, under the control of someone else; it was, quite literally, dehumanizing.

He could feel Emma’s worried gaze as he stalked his side of the room. “Okay, but what it is, exactly, and how do we fix it?”

“It’s a transformation potion, but an incredibly potent one. I super-concentrated it for maximum power.”

Regina asked, “Why a werewolf? Couldn’t you have picked something with less...fleas?”

“Ruby left a hairbrush here once, so I had to work with what was on hand.”

“So it’s like Polyjuice Potion?” To his surprise, Emma seemed relieved by the revelation, but he had no idea what that was. She threw him a glance with the corner of her mouth ticked up, which usually meant she’d explain it later. 

“Kind of. Same idea, but this one isn’t as...temporary, I guess?”

Any relief disappeared. 

“What do you mean?” Emma asked slowly.

Whale explained, “It was designed to be a bit more permanent in nature.”

The pit that had been forming in his stomach rapidly became a dropping stone, and Killian was frozen in place; even the dustmotes swimming in the light streaming through the windows seemed to still. What the bloody hell did he mean? Emma’s mouth hung open in shock and she was staring at him, but clearly both were left speechless.

So Whale continued. “Tell me, Captain, have you noted anything different since you returned to human form? Heightened senses; a craving for meat?”

Killian swallowed as a cold sense of realization washed over him. “Aye, I have,” he confirmed with a low, shaky voice. Those subtle differences he’d noticed over the last few hours felt like giant warning signs now.

“Then there you have it,” Whale concluded. “There’s a slight chance it’ll wear off eventually, but I designed it to be even more potent than a werewolf’s bite. Ideally, you’d transform for an entire week around the full moon, rather than just a day.”

Emma snorted and proceeded to unleash verbal abuse on the doctor, but Killian found himself tuning it out despite his apparently enhanced hearing. This curse was permanent. No amount of True Love magic could reverse or alter it; no spell or potion could undo it. His entire life had been redirected and likely torn apart thanks to one sip of a psychotic man’s cruel experiment. If he wasn’t safe for even a rabbit to be around when he transformed, then how could he hope to stay with Emma?

Suddenly, she was in front of him, telling him to look her in the eye and breath; he hadn’t realized that he’d collapsed to his knees until Emma’s voice pulled him from the self-induced fog in which he’d placed himself.

She stroked his cheek—normally a comforting gesture, but it didn’t fit with the uncertainty in her shaky voice. “I promise you, we’ll figure this out,” she said, but she didn’t seem as convinced anymore. And if she wasn’t, how was he to be?

He hummed an agreement halfheartedly and leaned into her touch. But he knew that regardless of whatever she believed, he was now a danger to her; come nightfall—and possibly long after—he’d have to be far away.

* * *

Emma couldn’t help the disbelieving snort that escaped her lips when Whale explained what he’d done to Killian. “So this is all a game to you? You don’t mind that you’ve completely changed someone’s entire life—entire being—for the sake of some ridiculous study?”

“No, this is science,” he threw back, smugly, making her want to slap the cocky grin off his head that was surely there. And she was half tempted to ask Regina to do it for her.

“And you’re certain there’s no reversal?”

“DNA can only be messed with so many times; it’s dangerous stuff.”

“Emma, just let your pirate’s next meal be him,” Regina interjected. “As mayor, I’ll let this one slide.”

It was definitely a tempting offer, but said pirate was currently kneeling on the floor, staring at nothing and dangerously close to a panic attack. “As much as I might love that, we’ll figure out the doctor later; just make sure he can’t leave the station. I’ll meet you at the library.” After hanging up, she gave herself to the count of ten to freak out before going to Killian. As life-altering as this was for him, it was rocking her world, too. She knew he’d eventually have the beast in check, but how long would it take? How many more nights like the last would they face? They’d been separated before, but she didn’t think could handle it on such a regular interval. She’d gotten too used to his constant presence and unwavering support at her side to willingly give it up for even a short amount of time.

But right now, it was her turn to be that for him. She took one last deep breath before slipping off the bed and kneeling in front of him. “Killian,” she whispered. “Look at me.” God, how many times had she said that in the past 24 hours? “Breath, babe; just breathe.” He looked up at her; that panic that had finally started to ease from his eyes had found its way back in and it broke her heart. They had to find a way around this, but right now, all signs were pointing to dead ends. She couldn’t tell him that, though.

So, for the millionth time, she stroked his cheek and told him, “I promise you, we’ll figure this out.” It lacked her normal conviction, but it was one of those things where if she said it enough, she might start to believe it again. 

He was equally unconvinced, but agreed anyway. They stayed there on the floor for a bit, just holding each other and trying to wrap their heads around this, until Killian began to sway and she nearly had to catch him to prevent him from falling over, squeezing his shoulders to stabilize him.

“Okay, back in bed with you,” she directed, though admittedly less forcefully than usual; she stood to pull him up with both hands and he followed with no protest. “Get some more rest while I go see what I can figure out with Regina, okay?” 

He just nodded, but before she could step aside to tug back the covers for him, he pulled her tight to him, one arm around her waist and his hand on her cheek, and placed a searing kiss on her lips. Normally, such situations, given their present lack of clothing, would lead to other activities. But this didn’t have the usual heat—just the passion. He’d only kissed her like this a few times in the past, and though she knew what he was trying to say, she couldn’t afford to think like that. 

When he finally broke away, he pressed his forehead to hers and murmured, “I love you, Emma.” She was short on breath, but managed to return the endearment, and they stood there for a moment just breathing each other in. Then he placed a gentle kiss on her temple and backed away, gave her a tired half-smile, and moved toward getting in the bed. He was asleep before she’d even finished tucking him in.

He was trying to say goodbye, she could tell. Only this time, she’d be damned if she let him. 

She quickly dressed and poofed right over to the library, not even wanting to waste the time it would take to walk out of the house. If Belle noticed when Emma appeared in the lobby, it wasn’t apparent; she was too absorbed in a book, with another stack next to where she was reading, seated at one of the tables in the stacks. 

“Finding anything?” Emma asked as she approached, finally drawing Belle’s attention. The doorbell chimed in the background, signaling Regina’s arrival.

Looking up from the page, Belle shook her head and answered. “Nothing yet. I’ve looked at transformation spells, books on mythology, and even some theoretical physics and medical books. Nothing on how to reverse something like this.”

Emma just sighed, and Regina awkwardly offered her a pat on the shoulder as David arrived with coffee. Regina caught everyone up on what Whale had revealed, and Belle just shook her head at the news. “He’s right, unfortunately; there’s nothing that can turn a werewolf back into a human, especially if the source he used was someone who was born one.”

Emma felt her stomach fall to the tile floor. “So there’s nothing we can do?” She hated how watery her voice sounded, but the prospect of no solution...they’d overcome too much to hit a brick wall now. “He’s just...going to be a wolf forever?”

Her father’s heavy, comforting grasp squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, just because it can’t be reversed doesn’t mean we can’t handle it,” he assured her. “We’ve done it before and we can do it again. And if there’s anyone who can overcome this, it’s Hook.”

“It might take some time, but once he accepts it, he’ll be fine,” Belle added. “And David’s right—I know he can.”

Regina concurred, which was probably the most reassuring, and eased Emma’s internal tension a bit. “Okay, what do we do?”

David and Belle gave her as much of a crash course as they could in wolf taming, her father having been the one to get Ruby through it just after the curse broke. They promised they’d be on standby if they were needed tonight, but their instruction had Emma feeling confident; no, things weren’t going to be perfect, but they were going to be as close to it as possible.

A trip to the station and then the hospital saw Whale in a new residence: the cells. It wasn’t an ideal prison, but it seemed fair to have him on the other side of his odd brand of medicine for once. 

Darkness was falling by the time that was wrapped up, so Emma hurried home with dinner from Granny’s: the usual for her again, and a rather pink steak for Killian. The house was still dark when she arrived; she didn’t blame him if he was still napping. But the moonrise was imminent—he needed to be awake and she needed to be with him if they were going to manage this thing. 

Tossing the food on the kitchen table, she then headed upstairs to their room. As usual, the bed was perfectly made and his side of the room was spotless; not even a stray sock was on the floor. But it was empty, and there were no signs of life anywhere else. Shit.

Proper gentleman that he was, though, there was a note lying on the bed:

_ Emma— _

_ It would be the poorest of form to knowingly put you in danger, my love. As such, I’ve sequestered myself for the night to keep you—and others—out of harm’s way. Please do not fret, and know that I will return come morning, hopefully no worse for the wear. _

_ Counting down the hours and leaving all my love with you, _

_ —Killian _

She sighed, shaking her head. Of course the dramatic bastard would run off, thinking it was for the best. Despite everything, they were both still getting used to the fact that they didn’t have to go through things alone, so this was one instance where she knew to seek him out. 

And, predictable as he was, she was pretty positive she knew where he’d gone. With a wave of her hand, she transported to the  _ Jolly Roger _ .


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this! Life has been crazy, but here—finally—is the last chapter!
> 
> Alllllll the awards and thank-yous to cocohook38 for her encouragement and incredible art! (it's on tumblr!)

The day may have started out rough, but at least the weather was perfect for a sail. Killian took the  _ Jolly Roger _ out onto the calm waters, feeling comfortable for the first time in what felt like days while standing at the helm. The sun dancing on the waves was a welcome distraction from the fact that he could now hear every whip of a line and creak of the ship with startling clarity. 

When he found himself a decent ways from shore, though still within town lines, he dropped anchor and stood on the deck as the sun began its descent. While watching the changing colors of the sky, a shudder wracked his body; glancing up, he noticed the faintest outline of the moon becoming visible overhead. It was almost like the man etched in its surface was mocking him. 

But he figured here, on the open water, was far safer than anywhere on dry land once the beast took over. There was no chance of crossing paths with any form of fresh meat out here, and he’d never heard of a wolf capable of swimming the distance that was currently between the ship and the docks. Provided no one followed him out in one of those motor boat contraptions, he’d be free to deal with this transformation in peace.

And as loathe as he was to spend yet another night away from Emma—and who knew how many more, and how often, hereafter—at least he had his old friend to pass the time with.

The darker the sky grew, the more often he found himself shaking in anticipation of what was to come. One particularly violent tremor sent him to his knees, and he knew the time was close; the moon was nearly full bright, as well. So after one final check of the ship, he headed to the mostly dark captain’s quarters, shutting the hatch behind him. 

Once down there, he stripped to his smallclothes, lest he destroy anymore garments, and sat on the bunk to wait, staring at the pattern in the wood floor where it was dimly lit by what moonlight filtered through the windows. His stomach grumbled at him and he realized just how long it had been since his last meal; another good reason to be far from people.

Suddenly, he heard a thump overhead, followed by a familiar voice shouting his name. “Killian? Where are you?” Emma’s question was followed by the sound of her footsteps on the deck, making a beeline to the hatch. He cursed aloud; why hadn’t she stayed home, where it was safe?

Light flooded the room and he scooted into the corner of the bed in an attempt to hide, as ineffective as he knew it would be. But then everything around him faded away as yet another convulsion had him curling in on himself, and it almost felt as though his blood was vibrating within him. The change was coming, and fast.

Gentle hands held his arms, stroking softly and returning his focus to the outside world. Emma was crouched over him, and he could make out the worried, firm set of her eyes and mouth.

In panic, he scrambled away, down toward the other end of the bed. She couldn’t be here; why had she come? “Emma, please go, love; I told you—” 

“Don’t even go there,” she cut him off, stubbornly. “If I followed you to the Underworld, why wouldn’t I now?”

He sighed; honestly, he should have known she’d come. He shoved off away from the bunk toward the opposite end of the room, trying to put as much space between them as he could. A glance through the windows at the now-risen moon—and the prickle that was forming in his spine—told him it was just about time.

She stepped toward him, so in a last-ditch effort, he held out his hand to bar her and started to say, “Swan, please, you have to— _ ahhh _ !” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence as the transformation took over.

The sensation of veins pulsing returned, as whatever it was that made his body change ran through them. It burned less than it did the night before, but it still brought him to the floor, as if acid was running through his body, starting from his pounding heart and racing to the ends of his limbs. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, though he rationally knew it was he that was growing. Somewhere in the background, he registered Emma’s voice, but was too overcome by the aches of his changing body to really hear what she was saying.

With every heartbeat, he felt the effects of the transformation: the stretching and rearranging of his bones; his muscles growing larger and denser; the odd pulling on his spine where his tail was taking shape; even a tingling sensation all over his skin where fur was coming in. Rationally, it all had an explanation, but when he was caught in the moment, it just hurt, and he could hear his cries of agony turn into howls and whimpers as it went on.

Last night, he’d been so confused by what was happening that he’d hardly noticed when the wolf slipped in. But tonight, he was all too aware, and tried his damnedest to fight back and hold on to awareness. The physical transformation was complete, but the wolf was still grappling for power, with lupine instincts trying to rise—the instincts to run, to hunt, to be free. (He couldn’t argue with that last one, to be honest.) Whereas the Darkness had manipulated his thoughts and feelings, feeding on his anger and weaknesses to get what it wanted, the wolf simply took it by force. The desire to flee out into the night was strong, and he was finding it harder and harder to resist. His muscles were twitching and shaking at the thought of it, and he was pawing at the floor, overcome by the need to run. 

He tried to focus on human things—the wood under his paws, the rocking of the ship, the taste of hot cocoa—anything to keep the beast at bay, but the wolf was proving to be much stronger and more persuasive. It wanted him to let go of all those mortal attachments and concerns and give into the wild freedom of the forest, to the feel of the air rushing over his body as he ran, the thrill of the chase and the victory of a successful hunt. He’d felt that all last night, though he hadn’t been fully aware—and he couldn’t lie, it had felt good. 

Repulsed, he growled and shook his head at the idea. No. He wasn’t that: some mindless monster, only fueled by bloodlust and hunger. That wasn’t him; not anymore. 

But...was he? He hung his head; maybe he always had been. Maybe the last few years had been an anomaly in his otherwise pain-filled life. Maybe it was better to surrender to the beast and run away before he hurt anyone else. 

Those thoughts of doubt allowed the wolf to nearly take over and convince him to give in when Emma’s voice finally broke through the chaos. 

“Killian, listen to me. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but trust me: you need to embrace the wolf.”

That jolted him to full consciousness. Had she gone mad? Accept the thing that was trying to tear them apart? He finally opened his eyes, not realizing he’d been squeezing them shut, and looked up to see her kneeling on the floor, hands hovering as if she was afraid to touch him. For once, her brow wasn’t furrowed in concern; it was firm with resolve, as was the set of her eyes and the clench of her jaw. She was serious.

He snorted in derision; this had to be a trick. Perhaps he was hallucinating, or it was someone disguised as Emma. But he could smell her: cinnamon and vanilla and leather and...Emma. 

He tried to tear his eyes from her, but the wolf seemed to be curious as to what she had to say and was forcing him to listen.

“I know that sounds insane, but that’s the only way for you to have control. You have to accept that it’s a part of you.”

How on earth could he? He wasn’t born with this; he had it thrust upon him unwillingly. There was no way for him to be alright with the fact that he’d been turned into a monster.

Of course, that thought alone had the beast in his head rearing, and he whined and curled in on himself, digging his claws into the floor and clenching his eyes shut as it rose to the surface, as if not seeing could fend it off. Not here, not with Emma—please—he couldn’t—

“I know you didn’t want this, and that you think it’s a curse. But it’s a part of you now, and like you once told me, I’m a fan of every part of you. Even if this part is a little furry—but, let’s be honest, you kind of always have been,” she finished with a light chuckle.

Deep down, he knew she was right. There was no reversal, and denying what had happened was only proving to make things worse. Her words were reassuring, but that wasn’t what was causing his hesitation and reluctance: he’d been a wild, bloodthirsty creature before, and he didn’t want to risk following that path again.

The wolf huffed in indignation at being classified as such, much like Killian himself would have back then. Maybe Emma was right: maybe there always had been some sort of wolf inside him. And like it or not, now it was on the outside. 

He didn’t want to be controlled; he’d had enough of that for one lifetime, and had spent far too many years as a captain to not be in command. If this was his only option, then he had to do it.

The wolf seemed to agree—or something like that, judging by the full-bodied shake it caused; anything to get out of this claustrophobic cabin.

He felt Emma squeeze his front leg. “Killian Jones, you defeated the darkness; this is nothing,” she affirmed. “I love you, and I know you can do this.”

Any last doubts of his vanished at her words. He was Captain Hook; he’d lived for centuries as a pirate with a hard-earned reputation, he’d overcome the darkest magic known to man; he’d found a family and woman that loved him; and...he was a wolf.

The second he admitted it, it was like everything clicked into place and the tension melted from his body. The wolf didn’t go away, but those instincts and desires settled into a place in his mind where he could contain them—where they became his, rather than being a slave to them. The thought of a hunt sounded good, but so did staying right here with Emma. 

He released a relieved sigh, sat back on his haunches, and looked up at her. She hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor and was still holding onto him. Her brow was furrowed as she studied his face, but when she connected with his eyes—and realized it was him staring back at her—her face relaxed and she broke out into a grin.

“Told ya,” she whispered triumphantly, and gave him a scratch behind the ear. He couldn’t argue.

He truly couldn’t, not only because this mouth wasn’t shaped to form human language, but because her ministrations felt divine and completely relaxed him. For a second, his leg started twitching, but then weariness washed over him, making everything hazy. Canine instincts told him to lay down, so he did, practically collapsing to the floor as his eyelids drooped.

The last thing he recalled before drifting off to sleep was Emma’s quietly said “I love you.”

* * *

Emma knew this time to stay back as the transformation took hold. It still wasn’t a pleasant sight, and the sound of his whimpers of pain still broke her heart. But she knew it was only because he was fighting it so hard; with any luck, this would be the last time it was like that.

Even once he was fully a wolf, she could see the internal war raging in the way he shook and groaned, his eyes darting to and fro whenever they were open. Her pleas of his name had so far gone unnoticed, but when he hung his head and she noticed his posture start to change, she knew she was running out of time. Panic tried to edge its way into her mind, but there was no time for that now, so she swallowed it down and moved forward.

He didn’t react when she knelt in front of him, and she had to stop herself from instinctively grabbing him lest he lash out. He was growling, low and feral, so if the wolf was running the show, she didn’t want to scare it with physical contact. Hopefully, just her increased proximity would be enough for her voice to get through to him.

So she took a deep breath and began. “Killian, listen to me. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but trust me: you need to embrace the wolf.”

That seemed to have an effect. He looked up at her, a trademark expression of disbelief evident even though his face was shaped completely differently; he somehow still managed to raise his eyebrows at her, and if it wasn’t for the gravity of the moment, she would have laughed. He studied her face, probably looking for any sign of a joke, and snorted when he didn’t find it. But he didn’t look away—or maybe it was the wolf listening, because his features shifted and narrowed a moment later to something far more canine. Whoever it was, she’d take it; she had to push forward.

“I know that sounds insane, but that’s the only way for you to have control. You have to accept that it’s a part of you.”

For a moment, her words seemed to have no effect, and that panic started to come back, creeping coldly down her spine—she couldn’t be too late, she just couldn’t. But then another terrible convulsion wracked Killian’s body, drawing the most pitiful whine that went straight through her heart as he curled in on himself, desperately trying to hold onto reality as his claws drew gouges in the ancient wood floor. She could almost see the internal battle in the shake of his head. With his eyes closed, it was hard to tell who was winning, so she kept going.

“I know you didn’t want this, and that you think it’s a curse.” Given all the other ones they’d been through, it might as well be. “But it’s a part of you now, and like you once told me, I’m a fan of every part of you.” He stilled a moment at that. Encouraged, she found herself babbling. “Even if this part is a little furry—but, let’s be honest, you kind of always have been,” she laughed.

She honestly didn’t care what kind of hair he had: the kind on his chest or dog fur; she just wanted to know that he was still there. Any time his eyes opened, it was brief and panicked and never long enough for her to tell who was in command. A wolf-like huff didn’t tell her much—he’d done that often enough as a human. Come to think of it, he did have several wolfish mannerisms to begin with. But that wasn’t important right now; he still needed to accept it, and she couldn’t tell if the way he suddenly shook was a good sign or not.

She wasn’t sure if it was out of desperation, or just that she didn’t know any other way to show her support, but she grasped his foreleg and squeezed. “Killian Jones, you defeated the darkness; this is nothing,” she told him steadily. She hadn’t been more sure of anything since her wedding vows. “I love you, and I know you can do this.”

Finally, something seemed to settle within him. The shaking stopped and his paws unclenched from the grooves they’d dug in the floor. She was vaguely aware of the fact that she was holding her breath as she studied him, body tense as she watched for any sign that Killian was there. 

A sigh from him elicited a stuttered breath from her, and she watched as his body calmed, he sat down, and then looked up at her, eyes only inches away from hers. Her first thought was to let go, in case it was the wolf. But then her eyes met his—his sea blue eyes, made all the brighter by the moonlight streaming in through the cabin windows, staring back at her with that soft, loving look he reserved for her—and that was all the assurance she needed.

He did it. He took control. Oh god, she was so proud of him, and she loved him so much.

She finally relaxed and grinned, nearly laughing with relief. “Told ya,” she murmured, finally releasing his leg to caress the soft fur of his head, scratching behind his ear.

In any other setting, she would have expected him to shrug it off, never one to be comfortable accepting compliments or praise; but apparently accepting one’s canine side meant also being susceptible to the simple joy of a head scratch. She had to bite back her laughter as he practically melted under her fingers, eyes closing and head falling back with a low moan not unlike ones she usually heard in more intimate settings. Oh, she was gonna to have fun with this.

Fulfillment gave way to fatigue, though, and it wasn’t long before he nearly collapsed on his front paws, blearily blinking before his eyes fell closed and sleep took over. She could hardly blame him, after what he’d just gone through; he’d more than earned a good nap. “I love you,” she said quietly as he drifted off. Just like when he was human, he looked so at peace when he was asleep, and almost younger—more puppyish. 

She continued to watch and stroke him until her own eyes started to droop, reminding her that she, too, had had a long day. Though the bed was right there, Killian was here, and he was just so warm. She didn’t even hesitate to curl up next to him, resting her head on his side as gently as she could. And she was asleep in seconds.

The next thing she was aware of was something warm and wet against her cheek. It went away, but then it came back. In her sleep-addled fog, she tried to brush it away, but it wasn’t deterred. Finally, she opened her eyes, only to find a long black snout and a soft, pink tongue right in her face, and her irritation disappeared.

“Hey there, handsome,” she yawned as she sat up; she must have been laying on him weird. But of course, he was a gentleman even in waking her, as always. “Sorry I fell asleep on you; did I—?”

How he managed to cut her off even without words surprised her, but hey, he was her true love—that was just how they worked. He snorted and stood up, taking a moment to stretch his extra-long limbs, before circling her. He flopped back down, surrounding her with his warmth and his softness on all sides. With a jerk of his head, he indicated to put her head on his shoulder—almost like how they normally slept. “You sure?” she asked. He nodded.

Even if it was a very different position, she felt just as loved and protected as she always did sleeping in his embrace. As she tucked her head into the soft, warm fur at his shoulder, hearing the comforting sound of his heartbeat within, she knew everything was going to be alright. 

* * *

They were a bit cold when they woke up spooning on the bare wooden floor the next morning, Killian wrapped around her in nought but his underwear and slightly shivering. Emma didn’t hesitate to teleport them home, back into their warm bed. 

“Thank you,” Killian sighed, pulling her even impossibly closer under their thick down comforter and nuzzling into her hair.

“Of course, babe,” she groggily answered, ready to try to grab an extra hour of sleep.

“No, Emma,” he started, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for everything last night; for guiding me back.”

She flipped over in his arms and opened one sleepy eye at him. He was wearing that sad puppy look he got when he thought he didn’t deserve or wasn’t worthy of something; but now, just like all the other times, he was wrong, and she resolutely set him straight. “Killian, that was all you—you’re the one who took control of the wolf. I just reminded you that you could.” Her eyes were shut before she could see the blush rise on his cheeks, and they stole a few more private hours together in bed—though they weren’t asleep for all of them.

And just like that, they settled into a new normal, even if it took a bit of time to figure out the best arrangements for his “time of the month,” as Emma jokingly began to refer to it. Some nights, the itch to run and hunt was too great to ignore, so he spent part of it roaming around the woods before retiring to the ship, where Emma was waiting. Others, he was content to curl up with Emma at home, and both were grateful for their king-sized bed—anything smaller wouldn’t have been able to hold his wolf, but the mattress that sometimes seemed too big was perfect on those nights. 

Emma had also noticed that during that week, his temperature ran a bit warmer and his appearance was a bit shaggier, with both his hair and beard coming in a bit thicker. She made a point to show him whenever she could just how much she was a fan of both; his feral growl in return only fanned the flames. If she’d thought lovemaking with Killian Jones was an otherworldly experience before, it was even more earth-shattering then, even if they were limited to daytime hours.

At some point, Granny stumbled onto the enchantment that had been placed on Ruby’s trademark cloak that halted her transformation, and Emma managed to cast it on Killian’s pirate charms. It gave them their nights back when they wanted or needed him in human form, like on Henry’s birthday, or the time some Lost Boys started terrorizing the woods and his enhanced sense of smell was necessary in tracking them down.

But it was the wolf who scared the juvenile delinquents out of the forest for good, and the wolf who kept Emma and David warm when Jack Frost decided to ice over the station. It also turned out that Gideon was highly entertained by the wolf on the nights they babysat for Belle, and that Killian was a surprisingly effective sheepdog when Wilby broke his leg.

Though Killian still would have preferred to not have been forced into acquiring his lupine side, at times like that, he appreciated it—and there was definitely something to be said for the feel on the wind on his fur as he ran free. So the magic override on his transition was handy to have, but not as necessary as they’d thought—and especially not once Ruby taught him how to transform at will, after she and Dorothy moved back. 

It was just another part of living in Storybrooke, like all the other weird, magical things they’d lived through. In the grand scheme of things, they’d been through worse and likely would again. As far as Emma and Killian were concerned, as long as they were together, nothing else mattered. 


End file.
